


Pleasure In Death

by Asreoniplier (AsreonInfusion)



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series), markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Bloodplay, Edging, Kidnapping, Mild Gore, Reader-Insert, Stockholm Syndrome, Vampire Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 05:50:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19987159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsreonInfusion/pseuds/Asreoniplier
Summary: In which Dark is vampire, keeping the reader captive to use them to feed from each night.(As usual with my two-shot works, the first chapter is SFW, and the second chapter is the inevitible NSFW follow-up, because I can't justnotmake things NSFW at some point. The second chapter does end with the death of the reader, but the first chapter can be read as a standalone if you're not into that. Or just pretend they passed out, you could read it that way pretty legitimately too.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I think this must be the... what, third vampire Dark thing I've written now? In case it wasn't obvious, I fucking love vampires. And I love Dark. So. These things happen... >>
> 
> I can't remember why I wrote this, I think we were talking about sharp teeth on a server somewhere and I wanted to scribble something out while I had the inspiration for it. Probably. Yeah.

It could be worse. You suppose.

The room is small, but comfortable. Plush carpet, a soft bed with a draped canopy and warm covers, an armchair and a small stack of books on the desk beside it.

The walls are stone and the only window little more than a slit, and barred at that. Your ankle is raw and chaffed from where the metal shackle around it rubbed while you senselessly paced your prison.

And then there’s _him_.

It could be worse.

He treats you… not exactly kindly. He fucking kidnapped you in the first place, after all. And every evening, when the sun goes down and the last orange rays filtering through the narrow window fade, he comes to your room and…

You raise your fingers to your throat, feeling the torn and tender flesh.

But for a vampire, for a _monster_ , he’s not the worst. You’re comfortable enough. He brings you food, more books if you ask for them. He’s cold to you, withdrawn - you’re a necessity and nothing more - but not cruel. It’s not violent, when he sinks his fangs into you. It hurts, of course it goddamn hurts, but he doesn’t go out of his way to make it worse than it needs to be.

You know how it goes by now. He enters the room - powerful, inhuman, his very presence making you want to tremble before him. He’s gorgeous, but it’s a dark and terrible beauty. Deathly pale, eyes like coals; until he feeds, and they fade back to crimson. It feels colder, when he’s here. Like his very existence sucks all the warmth and colour from the world around him.

He smiles at you, an empty expression that never reaches his eyes, and steps forward. It makes your heart rise to your throat every time, no matter how long…. god, how long have you been here? All you can do is slowly step backwards, the shackle and chain holding you captive clanking as you stumble over them and fall against the edge of the bed.

So afraid, and yet so oddly calm at the same time. Instinct still screams in fear, but his eyes, his smile, the tilt of his head and the hypnotic flickering of red and blue around him—

You don’t remember how you end up pinned beneath him, pressed down into the covers of your bed. You tried to tell him once, that he didn’t need to hold you down. Not anymore. He _did_ at first, before you’d learned it was hopeless, when you’d still struggled and screamed and tried to push him off you. But his grip was like iron, it never got you anywhere. And trying to run—

That had been a stupid move. Where were you even planning to go, still shackled? He’d backhanded you across the face, hard enough to make you fall to the floor. The anger in his eyes only flared briefly at your insolence, but it had terrified you enough to never make such an idiotic attempt again.

You know better now, you won’t try to escape. But still he pins your hips down with his own, holds your wrists above your head in one hand while the other grips you hair tightly and guides your head back to expose your ruined throat.

It feels almost _intimate_ , and the worst thing is you sort of enjoy the fact. You shouldn’t. You hate that you do. But it makes heat rush to your face, your pulse quickening. You avert your eyes, unable to look at him. There’s a smug little smirk that flickers momentarily across his face when he recognises your reaction.

His touch is cold against your flushed skin. His lips graze against your throat, against the deep bruises and puncture wounds he’s already left. Picking out a fresh spot, or an area that’s mostly healed, and then…

He sinks his fangs into you and your eyes roll back, instinctively jerking against the pain that lances through you.

You feel the blood well up, the curl of his tongue against you as he devours you, savouring the taste of it. It’s horrifying, but at the same time you can’t deny you’ve come to enjoy it, in some sick way. So helpless and trapped beneath him. It makes your head spin.

He holds you close as he feeds from you.

It’s just habit. It’s just how vampires are. It’s just because you made it necessary after struggling so much those first few nights.

That’s what you tell yourself.

How desperate are you to even imagine calling anything about this repulsive façade _affectionate_.

But when you’re pale and clammy and drained, and he’s had his fill, he carefully lays you back down and soothingly presses his fingers against the wounds he’s left. The cold, gentle touch feels heavenly against the raw ache left behind.

He fetches you food. Tells you to eat and regain your strength.

Each day it takes a little longer for your glazed eyes to regain their focus, a little longer to struggle up to a sitting position and reach for the meal he’s left with trembling fingers.

You stare down at the shackle around your ankle, the chain connecting it embedded deep into one of the stone walls. He’s not cruel. But you’re still a prisoner here, nothing more than a little pet for him to feed from.

Standing afterwards leaves you weak and dizzy. It gets harder and harder to concentrate on the books he provides for you. You sleep more and more, but never feel quite rested.

When you dream, it’s of a man with dark hair and dark eyes, dressed in black and with a cold smile that shows blood-stained fangs. You scream for him, try to say the words you can never find away, but there’s no way to get through to him.

Dawn is no relief, because night only comes, over and over again.

You can’t do this forever.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the NSFW follow up. It was requested, it wasn't just me, I swear. >>
> 
> I asked for people's ideas of what they would like to see in the second part, and this is... basically just entirely Dark's* suggestion, with the edging and death of the reader.
> 
> (*Again, by which I mean tumblr @darkipli3r//Instagram @darkiplier, lol)

It happens so slowly and subtly that you don’t realise how far you’ve fallen. Not until it’s far, far too late.

It starts with a caress against your cheek, his hand sliding down your side and gripping your waist. He stops holding back the soft moans of satisfaction as he feeds from you, and it sounds like—some other kind of pleasure. He grinds his hips against yours, and you can’t help but whimper.

Every night is less and less innocent. It should be repulsive – you know, somewhere in the back of your mind, that the affection is as empty and cold as he is – but when he captures your eyes with his and leaves you breathless and dizzy, you find you can’t care about minor details like that.

You can’t fight his touch, gentle yet utterly unyielding. You can’t fight the images he places in your head, the desire he stirs in you.

He has you so weak, worn down both physically and mentally. When he’s the only thing you have, is it any wonder you ended up coming to depend on him? Is it any wonder you fell for him?

Is it any wonder you’d do anything for him?

You stir lethargically at sundown. No amount of rest is ever enough to counter the weakness and weariness that’s settled bone-deep into every ounce of your being. You can’t do this forever. Yet somehow your greatest concern is that you won’t be able to provide for him, if one day you don’t wake up at all.

He comes to your room wearing his suit and that cold, gorgeous smile that makes your knees feel weak. There is nothing but helpless anticipation now as he lays you down.

In a way, nothing has changed. He pins you to the bed like always; his touch is firm, insistent. Powerful. You can feel the length of his body against yours and it thrills you.

You murmur his name and wrap your arms around his shoulders.

Even now he doesn’t kiss you, not quite. The most he grants you is the graze of his lips against yours; fangs tugging at your lips, biting down until you taste blood if you dare try to seek more and deepen the kiss yourself.

No matter how you beg him, he only teases. No matter how badly you want him, need him—

His fingers slip beneath your clothing, and your breath catches at the sensation of his skin against yours.

“You’ve been waiting so desperately for this moment, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” you breathe. The low purr of his voice is enough to make you melt. You sigh and shiver as he explores you; then he leans back with a wicked smirk.

“Strip for me.”

For a moment, you can only stare at him in shock. He means— ‘you’ve been waiting for this moment’. You thought he only meant awaiting night, awaiting the chance to see him again. But it’s more than that.

Immediately, you fumble to obey. Your fingers are trembling as you undo the buttons of your shirt. He only watches, something hungry and predatory in his eyes, as you slide the fabric from your shoulders and lay back down to wriggle free of the lower half of your clothing too.

It’s so incredibly vulnerable, to be laid bare before him, but your pulse is racing and your face flushed in anticipation.

“How gorgeous,” he murmurs. His lips find your throat, toying with the deep bruises and marks left marring the flesh there from so many nights of feeding from you. His hands trail over your exposed sides, over your hips, possessive and demanding. Purposeful.

Oh, god. After so long teasing, he’s finally serious. You’ve been imagining this moment for weeks, playing it through your head over and over again, and the thought of what’s to come leaves you aching for it.

You’ve been waiting so desperately.

“I’ve been waiting for this too,” he informs you.

There’s something off about the way he says it, something cruel buried deep in his voice. His eyes are blacker than ever; it feels like drowning in the void when he looks at you.

He strips as well. Slowly. Those strong, powerful hands slide down his tie, hooking his fingers beneath the knot to loosen it. Jacket off, then his shirt, and he's—god, just seeing him shirtless and staring down at you with such intensity sends arousal flooding through your veins.

You don’t get the honour of watching him remove his trousers. He works his way down your body instead, the sharp points of his teeth tracing along your collarbone, down your chest and to your waist, over your lower stomach to make the muscle there quiver. Your hand flies to cover your mouth, trying to muffle the whimper he wrings from you.

The he parts your knees and settles between them; his fangs press against the inside of your thigh, and you can feel your pulse fluttering beneath the dangerous prick of them.

He bites down and you cry out so prettily for him.

Hot, thick blood wells up from the wound, and he drinks it greedily. You clench your fingers into the sheets, trying desperately not to shudder and buck beneath him. It’s so sensitive there. Painful, but a familiar pain and one you’ve almost come to enjoy in some sick kind of way. And with his lips and tongue somewhere so intimate…

“Please,” you moan.

It’s heady, the pain and pleasure mixing together, his hypnotic presence leaving your mind hazed. He finally draws away with a final kiss to the twin puncture wounds he’s left, and when you open your eyes you find him looming over you. His terrifyingly sharp, deadly teeth are bared wide in a heartless smile, stained with your blood.

“Tell me,” he demands, voice deep and smooth yet somehow feral, “that you surrender to me.”

“I surrender!”

“Tell me you’re willing to give me everything.”

“Everything,” you promise.

His voice is lower now. Darker. “Even your life.”

The way he speaks sends chills through you. “Yes…”

And he laughs. It’s the most terrifying yet arousing sound you’ve ever heard in your existence.

He grips your hair, yanking your head back. His other hand reaches for his trousers.

Your chest is tight, heart pounding, face flushed. You can’t think. You can’t resist.

He is unholy divinity, a monstrous god, and the way you spread your legs for him is the most blasphemous act of worship.

His hardness grinds against you, another tease that sends a shudder of lust through you. You’re aching and needy and ready for him. You’ve been ready for this for so long.

His fangs sink into your neck in the same instant his cock sinks into you; he bites down deep into the flesh and tears and you scream.

It’s nothing one the way he’s fed from you before. He’s carved a whole chunks from your throat and—fuck, fuck, fuck. It’s bleeding out, gushing in a sticky mess—

“Quiet,” he snaps, and you fall silent with a choked sob. There’s blood all over his lips and running freely down his chin. Oh, god. Monster. How could you have forgotten?

He rocks his hips, slowly at first, and your eyes roll back at the feel of his hot, thick length stroking inside you. You’re so full of him, stretched wide to take his cock. It feels so filthy, but so perfect, and you whimper mindlessly as he takes his pleasure from your body.

His mouth clamps down on the wound he’s torn, utterly devouring you. Your blood, your very life. It’s deep enough for him to slide his tongue into the open, bloody gash, which is—not exactly a pleasant sensation, but he’s thrusting hard into you at the same time, and his hands are grasping at you with bruising intensity, and you can’t work out if you love it or hate it.

You try to wrap your arms around him again, desperately needing something to cling to to ground yourself; your head is spinning sickeningly and you feel weak and helpless beneath the onslaught of conflicting sensations. But he only snarls and shoves your hands away.

“Please!” you choke. You’re bleeding out too much, he’s taking more than you can handle. You’re going to pass out, you can tell; there’s already darkness rapidly clouding in from the edge of your vision. But you’re so close, pleasure wracking your body, the things he does to you… nothing else exists anymore apart from him. His mouth on your abused throat, his possessive grip, his cock rutting into you. “Oh, god, please. I need to come.”

He stops, drawing back with an impassive, calculating expression. He stares down at you, drinking in your broken and breathless form, and his bloodied lips twist into a sneer.

“No,” he says.

You can only sob as he fucks into you again, and it’s so obvious he’s only using you but it still feels so good. So good, but not enough to push you over the edge. He makes sure of that. Every time you get close he only slows again.

He’s going to make you lose your mind. Not that you have much of it left anyway; there’s nothing but static in your head now, a high-pitched ringing that drowns out your thoughts, and everything is just—a mess. Pleasure, pain. Fear settled like ice in your stomach, half-aware of it through your haze.

He asked you if you’d give him your life… and you’d agreed. You realise now with sickening certainty that he’s going to take it; there’s too much damage, you’re still bleeding out, and he’s not stopping.

“Dark!!” you beg.

But he only fucks you until he comes, letting out low groans and growls of pleasure as his seed spills out inside you. Filling you, defiling you.

You moan brokenly as he pulls out, still squirming with need yet so afraid at the same time. Your vision is blurred almost completely. You reach out for him – for whatever comfort you can get, just to hold his damn hand as you fade – but he brushes you off.

The last thing you see is his icily satisfied smile as he wipes your blood from his mouth.


End file.
